kiss with a fist or a no 2 pencil
by Lady Shaye
Summary: Number two pencils, physics papers, vampires, and bad aim do very unconventional love confessions make. / He should be standing up by now, tearing the pencil out of his back, and yelling at her and smirking and doing that eye-fuck-thing that made her feel things that she knew she shouldn't .


Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I don't own Damon or Caroline *sob* or anything else related to Vampire Diaries, and I shall regret that for the rest of my life. In other news, I am about to devour a chocolate mousse yogurt, and I am _very_ excited about this.

A/N: Um. This was meant to be a drabble. Erm. It isn't. _C'est la vie. _Thus, my tentative entrance into this lovely television show, and my favorite couple from it. _Voila_. *tips hat* Enjoy.

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Pairing: Damon/Caroline

Rating: T

Summary: Number two pencils, physics papers, vampires, and bad aim do very unconventional love confessions make. / He should be standing up by now, tearing the pencil out of his back, and yelling at her and smirking and doing that eye-fuck-thing (that made her feel things that she knew she shouldn't).

Warning: extremely silly. Not set at any particular time, just after season two. So, yes, SPOILER: Caroline's a vampire. Honestly, though, if you don't know that, what are you even _doing_ here? So, yes, be prepared for a silly moment between our two favorite vampires.

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"_Da_mon," she whined. "Can you help me with this paper? You've got to have learned physics, like, twenty times by now. God knows you've had the chance."

He turned to her, said shortly, "No," and turned back to his book.

Annoyed, Caroline glanced at her paper. Then Damon's back, which was facing her. Then her no. 2 pencil. She grinned evilly.

It wasn't like anything would happen. For one, she had really horrible aim except when it came to guns, and for two, he had great reflexes. He'd turn around and catch it before it even got anywhere even close to her tentative target: his left ear.

But as soon as the pencil was released from her hand, two things came into play: her _damn_ terrible aim, and his ability to tune everything out for a fucking _book_. He seriously didn't hear the pencil flying towards him, she noticed. (It was obviously a very good damn book.)

The pencil sailed straight at him, and as she observed that he was sitting in backless chair, she also noted that, due to her damn _awful_ aim, it was headed right for his unprotected back, directly where heart should have been…where it still was, one of his very few vulnerable weak spots.

She was going to scream—_Dammit, what the hell is the use of super-fast reflexes if you can't even _scream_ fast?_—but it wouldn't come out properly. She only got so far as a whisper of his name before the pencil embedded itself in his back. "Damon—" she murmured as it struck him, and he stiffened, and then collapsed out of the chair onto the Persian rug of the living room of the boardinghouse.

_Then_, of _course_, the scream finally came out properly. And shrilly.

"_Damon_!"

She was at his side in less than a heartbeat, the seconds ticking past slower than she thought they ever would or could, and he had soundlessly collapsed save for a strange, loud but brief gurgling sound that had erupted from the back of his throat, suspiciously like the sound of blood bubbling up. She was all too aware of the lack of sound coming from him. He should be standing up by now, tearing the pencil out of his back, and yelling at her and smirking and doing that eye-fuck-thing (that made her feel things that she knew she shouldn't).

His eyes rolled back up into the inside of his head, and then closed. His (unnecessary) breathing halted completely, stopping in the middle of a breath. She knelt at his side, arms going through his and interlocking at his back so she could partially hold him up. She bit back an unnecessary but routine grunt (nothing was really heavy anymore, including him—damn, he was lightweight. He acted big and tough, but in reality he wasn't that tall, and not that heavy.) as she uncurled her legs from under her, crossed them Indian-style, and lifted his head into her lap.

"Damon! Damon, dammit, wake up!" She slapped his cheeks. Damn Stefan for not being home, for having to go on some stupid fucking date with Elena! Damn him! "Damon, I swear to God that if you are fucking with me then I will mess you up! Wake up, damn you!"

She noted Damon was ashy gray—paler than usual, especially his face, though she couldn't see much else of him with his long-sleeved black shirt (a few buttons casually undone, as usual), matching black jeans, and black shoes—and decided to check out the wound. She rolled him off of her with an effortless push, and curled her legs back under her, peering down at his back.

He rolled off of her lap with a sickening, lifeless-sounding _thump_, and Caroline winced. She examined the pencil with a look of disgust and horror. Biting her lip, she pulled it out with her right forefinger and thumb, noting his sticky red blood clinging to her fingers and soaking into her skin and dripping off of the pointed end of the pencil. She dropped it, leaving it alone, focusing on Damon, the vampire she'd literally just stabbed in the back…unintentionally. (Stefan was gonna kill her later for getting the blood on the carpet. "It's _Persian_, Caroline! Dammit." She could imagine it now, and Damon was laughing with her, high-fiving her. He had to be alive. He _had_ to be.)

_Damon's blood._ She shuddered. (She didn't think it had hit his heart, but she really couldn't be sure. He wasn't desiccated yet, for sure, just ashy gray, but he also wasn't moving either when he normally would be by now. Or showing any proof that he was still undead, and not just _dead_.)

Rolling his back over, she slapped him across the face. Hard. He didn't react, gave no indication that he was feeling _anything_. That was when the panic started to settle in, and Caroline began to freak.

"Damon, damn you, I _need_ you to wake up! I need you to call me Vampire Barbie or Blondie or useless! I need you to treat me like complete and total shit! I need you to get up and finish your fucking _Gone with the Wind_! I need you to listen to me! I never—I never got to—" she sat back, franticness and grief filling her previously almost-vacant facial expression. She took one of his hands—his left one, she thought, though she couldn't be quite sure, as she was dazed and stricken and sad and shocked and _broken_—in both of her own and begged silently. The words coming out of her mouth were shaky and revealed exactly how much she was _fighting_ the urge to cry. To just break down and _weep_. A small, almost soundless sob escaped past her lips, and a tear rolled down her cheek, though she would never acknowledge its existence.

"Damon, I—I never got to say how much you've taught me, and that I appreciate it. I never got to thank you for saving my life so many damn times. I didn't have the chance to tell you that I forgave you _such_ a _long _time ago for hurting me and using me back when I was human. I never got to promise you that we would always be friends, no matter what. I never got the chance to tell you how…how much I—I…" she cut herself off, swallowing back tears, biting back choked sobs. "I love y—"

His hand twitched in hers, and Damon sat up, rubbing his back, groaning. He scowled irritably at the bloody pool on the floor. He snatched his hand away from hers, blinking, surveying the bloodied pencil on the carpet. "Dammit. Got blood on the Persian rug." He blinked, and then turned his amazing, sharp dark blue eyes on her, studying her with a small laugh. "Well, damn. Nice shot, Barbie. But I've had worse. So, you love me, huh?" he smirked, absolutely as Damon-ish as ever. (She wondered if he had been awake the whole entire time, and briefly considered killing him for _real_ for that.)

Caroline just groaned.

At least, she did until he cut her off with his lips, and then it was a moan of pleasure and a cry of passion, mixed with his own, and then very, very lovely things that they were doing to each other…

(Damn. Stefan was really gonna flip over the carpet later. But as Damon's lips found her neck and his groan proceeded to make her arch her back underneath him, she found that she really didn't care that much. Who could mind about _that_, when Damon was doing these…wonderful _things_? Certainly not her.)

_Fin_.

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A/N: Yeah...hope for better things later, because I was tired but I wanted to write something and this came to mind, and I wanted to do something silly and light-hearted. Ha. Damon Salvatore...silly. Those things combined make me laugh. Alas. Damon has become a doormat for Elena Gilbert, and my dreams feel crushed. *sigh* Perhaps later he'll come to his senses and be with Caroline. I can dream. Review, dear ones, review! If only to tell me how stupid it is.


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